Worth it
by LillianLuthor
Summary: What if Lex had been sent to Smallville during Clark´s senior year? What if Lex himself had been seventeen?


Title: **Worth It**

Fandom: Smallville

Pairing: Clark/Lex (is there any other?)

Rating: R for drug use and crude language, but no smut

Author: Lillian Luthor

E-mail: issokyahoo.com

Feedback: sure, I'm a bitch for it... I'll even settle for flames if you have nothing good to say

Archive: if you care enough to want it, you have it. just let me know, or whatever...

Disclaimer: they're not mine, nothing this pretty has ever been mine... I'm just borrowing, in an amateur and unprofitable kind of way.

Notes: Heh, Amy's long list of exhortation-challenges really did hit hard. I'm kind of considering to take them two or three at a time until I'm through with them =P

Also, thanks very much Zafra for spontaneously beta-ing, because I _know_ I have the grammar domination of a five year old, but I didn't have anyone to turn to. Thank you, you're a dear, maybe you'll even end up turning me intro a properly-speaking person!!! J

Heh, you've got good suggestions too... J

Anyway, I'm sure there's probably some screwed up stuff left somewhere around here (I'm mass-producing it, believe me) so blame me...

--o--

His mom had always told him every cloud had a silver lining and to try and find something positive in every negative situation he found himself in. Right, okay; something positive about being sent to Smallville, ass-end of nowhere, to live by himself in a stupid old castle... well, he had always thought he hated his dad, but now he knew for sure. Did that count as something positive?

"Fuck it!" he snarled, deciding to stop looking for a positive aspect of his current nightmare and just get nice and drunk. Now, if only he had some of the good stuff... of course, trust dad to take that away, but still send him in the limo with a full-stocked bar on a three-hour trip to the countryside. He had to think it was a mind game --because why the hell would you put your decidedly alcoholic seventeen year old son in a limo with a privacy screen and gallons of booze, for three hours, if you didn't want to prove something?

"Well prove away, dad", he chuckled, dropping on the limo's floor next to the bar as he opened the first bottle at hand... scotch. He liked scotch, but he would soon have to move to the hard stuff if he wanted to get really wasted before arriving in Smallville. Fucking Smallville. He had already lost his hair there; maybe if he was lucky enough he would slip into an alcoholic coma and get it all over with. He should be so lucky.

His dad had the most seriously fucked-up child-rearing policies ever. True, he had known it was probably a bad idea the moment he decided to start selling drugs at school --hell, he had known the moment he had started making them, but it wasn't that bad. It wasn't as if most of those spoiled idiots weren't doing them already. Of course, that's what the headmaster had been outraged about.

Lionel? He had been mad that Lex had done something so stupid and got caught. He decided Lex was trying to prove something by selling the stuff - doing something so low-class and pathetic as small-time drug-dealing - and decided he would show Lex what it was like to belong to the lower-classes by enrolling him in public school. Nevermind that he was staying in a fucking castle, with tons of hired help! Damn him!

He was a fucking genius, should have been tutored throughout school and in college by now, but instead he was going to be locked in a fucking public school with a lot of, how pathetic, farmers, doing... well, whatever they did in those places... shit, with school cafeterias, and a fucking gym where they probably played, what? Football? "Damn you, dad! Next thing you'll want me to apply for a college scholarship!"

"Fuck you!" he yelled at the empty space surrounding him, kicking at the seats doing nothing to make him feel better. He didn't even have a fucking cigarette in here, and he didn't even know if they sold cigarettes in Smallville. They probably smoked hay, or something. "Fuck you, you stupid cow-fuckers!"

--o--

Well, his plan of getting drunk before getting to Smallville had obviously worked, judging by the fact he was now lying in a bed, with no recollection of ever getting there, and the fucking sun was shinning on his face! He was about to yell for someone in the damn place to come close the fucking curtains when suddenly his cell phone rang from somewhere under him. He didn't need to check the caller ID.

"What the fuck do you want, dad?"

"What the fuck do I want?" Lionel's less-than amused voice came at once "I want you up and reporting to school in half an hour! What did you think this was, paid vacations?! And you better behave, because if you get expelled from there, I'll disinherit you and adopt a fucking chimp to stand in for you!"

"I hate you dad, I wish you were dead!" he shouted at the phone.

"The feeling's mutual you little fag, now get on with it!"

"I hate you", he yelled yet one more time, throwing the damn phone out the window; he just hoped the glass was expensive. How dare the bastard call him a fag! He knew for a fact his father enjoyed fucking men almost as much as women, even while his mother was ill - but he was the fag because he liked to take it up the ass?. "Bastard", he murmured one more time, before leaving the bed to look for his luggage. He just hoped his dad hadn't found out about the false bottom.

--o--

He had gotten over the depression of having his BMW -which thankfully had been sent over - parked next to a truck, while he smoked a freshly-rolled joint before getting out of his car. It was barely enough to get him a little more at ease with being, well, there, but he was seriously considering rolling another one by the time the bell rang and he had to hurry to class. Why was he doing this, again? Oh yeah - dad's an asshole.

His first class, Home Economics -what a travesty!- he had to spend sitting next to a jock-type blonde who kept throwing slide-long glances at him, obviously smelling the weed he had been smoking earlier; although it could very well have been the bald thing. Or the 'Luthor' thing.

By the time the class finished, several cheerleader-types were crowding around him, trying to get his attention as they introduced themselves to him in a display of high school hierarchy that was so pathetic he would have probably appreciated the humor value of it had it been happening to someone else. He had to physically push them off him until he could retreat back to the parking lot to roll another joint and hopefully have a moment's peace. It was just his luck that even there some of them managed to find him all the same.

"Hi Lex! We kind of lost you back in the hallways!", one of them, a blond slut-wannabe called out to him, waving her hand around as two other girls followed her like bloody acolytes. "What are you doing here all alone?", she asked in unpracticed fake concern, batting her eyelashes wildly.

"What does it look like I'm doing?", he said with annoyance, not even bothering to stop smoking.

"Oh, you can't smoke here..." one of the other ones, a petite brunette, said shyly.

"Technically, you can't smoke this anywhere", he smirked, holding the joint out for the first bimbo with a raised eyebrow; at least the expression on her face was funny, because she obviously didn't want to take it, but she definitely didn't want to appear un-cool to Lex, either.

It was just her luck that some teacher chose that precise moment to park her car a few spaces away, and even when he was tempted to ignore her and keep doing his stuff he decided against it and put the joint out quickly, saving it in the front pocket of his jeans.

"What do you think you're doing?", the teacher asked reprovingly, the looks on the three girls' faces somewhat amusing.

"I am quite sure you already have an idea of what we were doing..." he chuckled, the girls holding their breaths in sheer panic at his almost-admittance.

"You think you're so smart?", the teacher snapped, making a grab for his backpack. "Where did you put it?"

"Honey, I don't know what you're talking about", he smiled innocently as she put the bag down. "Is there a problem? With the bag?"

"It's Mrs. Simmons to you", the teacher glared at him, her patience diminishing by the second "And the problem is you were smoking marijuana a second ago, I can smell it in the air!"

"Well, so it does smell like pot; doesn't go a long way towards proving I was smoking it, though..."

"Oh please. Where is it?", she insisted, but it wasn't until she moved to feel his jacket pocket that he stopped smiling.

"Hey, hold it" he warned her, emptying his jacket's pockets himself to show her the joint wasn't there. "I only have my wallet here; you can check it if you want, but you're not setting your hand on me... that's a nasty thing to do to an underage student, anyway, isn't it?"

"Very well, you can tell the principal about it then", she decided, giving him back his wallet, which probably contained more money than she made in two months. "You too, girls."

--o--

"I can't believe this! My parents are going to kill me!", one of the girls kept repeating as they sat waiting for the principal in his office.

"Well, next time think about that before sucking up to the spoiled rich guy" he snorted, just not believing how dense they were; the brunette had been crying just a moment ago, which had been all in all a good thing because, while the teacher consoled her, he had managed to get rid of the damaging evidence. With his luck, his dad had probably signed something authorizing them to undress him to his shorts for all he knew.

As fate would have it, the girls were sent away with detention and notes for their parents, but nothing major. He, on the other hand, had to stay and talk to the boring old man who, funny enough, was acting like Lex was a fucking heroine junkie, and he was an understanding older brother. The jerk.

"Listen, son", the chat had started. "We can't prove you were doing anything wrong, but we know you were... so I just want you to know, if you are having troubles, things with your life you're not handling well, you can talk to us..."

Yap, yap, yap. Obviously th guy hadn't gotten his father's memo saying he could indeed search his rectum for drugs, and hang him in the public square to have passersby spit on him if he found any. But well, most people were afraid to piss a Luthor off, and he wasn't going to promote the opposite. However, it did get really obnoxious when he decided to assign him some local nerd to show him around the school, tutor him if he needed it, and all the usual crap. It was obviously to keep an eye on him.

"Well, Clark, here you are!" The principal smiled when the door behind him opened, and Lex just had to sigh in defeat and let himself slip lower on his chair; this was going to take a while...

"Principal Reynolds, hi" the guy said, and from the voice alone he could tell the guy was smiling; what kind of a socially-challenged idiot smiles when he's called to the principal's office? Oh, the same kind of idiot who wears a red plaid shirt on top of a blue T-shirt, he reckoned as he finally saw the kid when he sat in the chair next to him.

"Did I mention I highly object to this?" Lex sighed in exasperation, hoping the old idiot was not serious about him having this clueless, dorky farm-hick trailing after him like a puppy for the next couple of weeks. "Despite whatever impression you may have gotten of me, I have been in a school before..."

"Perhaps, Lex, but you haven't been here..." the principal smiled some more, almost making him sick; he had been trying to piss the man off for about an hour, and it just didn't seem to work -he was probably going to have to slit his wrists and bleed to death if he didn't stop that. "Clark's one of our best students, and he has lived in Smallville all his life..."

"Well, lucky him", he snorted, not even glancing at the kid who, if he knew his place, was probably not smiling anymore. "Listen, I have a 150 IQ, I'm not doing drugs, I don't want to kill myself or others, and I have enough money in trust to live without working for my whole life... I really don't need someone to guide me, here or anywhere..." and why was he even trying? The old bastard was just smiling tolerantly at him.

"I understand Lex, it's hard to be in a new school... but don't worry, you don't have to be defensive with me", he assured him looking frustratingly sincere. "Clark, this is Lex... I want you to show him the school..."

"Yeah, whatever" Lex said, knowing when to admit to a defeat and bolting for the door. "Come, Chuck", was all he said before heading back to the parking lot; he didn't even check to see if the Principal's pet geek was following.

--o--

Well, he should have known this socially-challenged individual was going to follow him. He wore plaid, smiled to the principal and seemed happy about tutoring someone. It figured he had to be a geek. It was just as well that he was only smoking a regular cigarette when the kid found him, or he would have probably ran for the hills. He looked uncomfortable enough as it was.

"Listen Chuck, I'm really not in the mood here..." he said as nicely as he could fathom without sounding condescending. "Why don't you go stalk some cheerleader you'll probably never get to fuck, or whatever it is you countryside geeks do to spend the time..."

"Okay, finished with the speech?" The kid interrupted him, and he did not sound so polite now "If you just stopped acting like an overgrown five year old for a second, you would realize I've not been following you around for the last ten minutes because of your overwhelming charisma, but because I was told to. As a matter of fact, I do have better stuff to do, and guess what, it's not cow-tipping!"

Boy, the kid was getting kind of loud now... he even looked pretty passable when he was pissed. "I'm sorry okay", and pity, the cute anger was gone... still not hard on the eyes, though.

"You know, you're really hard to like... why don't you stop acting like a brat for a second and just let me show you around; maybe you'll even find something here you like..." Aw, were those pleading eyes?

"Okay, whatever, just let me finish this..." Lex sighed, gathering it was probably better than just sitting around all day. "I don't suppose you smoke?"

--o--

__

A month later.

The phone, as usual, awoke him in the morning. The son of a bitch making sure the unfitting heir was still alive.

"I'm alive, I'm still in Smallville, and I haven't done anything incriminating," he informed succinctly.

"Wonderful. Stay well son," his father said approvingly, hanging up immediately.

In the month he had been in Smallville it had boiled down to that; he simply assured the old bastard he was alive and staying out of trouble, and his father stopped bugging him. It didn't even piss Lex off that he didn't seem to care if he was well; actually, he had started calling in the morning when he had realized Lex was usually too drunk to answer the phone during the night. It wasn't like he ever cared, anyway.

Well, his hangover wasn't too bad, considering he had downed a bottle of vodka the night before, and he had some prime quality weed in his stash, so the morning was looking up. He wasn't really hungry for breakfast, but if he smoked some now, then he would at least be able to stomach some food, and then he could head to school. He just hoped he didn't have many of those classes where the teachers actually expected him to pay attention and participate, but of course he didn't know... Clark still couldn't understand how he had managed to go through the daily routine for a month and still not know what classes he had each day.

He didn't really know why the hell Clark was sticking around, either. The probation period was definitely over, and he had expected the kid to just walk away at the first chance, but for some reason he just kept showing up. It wasn't like he really cared; Clark was a pretty okay guy - for a farmer.

--o--

He was sitting in the school parking lot, between his car and one of the teacher's SUVs. If there was one thing he had learned in Smallville High, it was that he did not want to smoke pot in the open, unless he really wanted to deal with the principal, whom he had started to believe was actually an irritatingly nice guy. He had apparently tried to phone his dad the first time around, and Lionel had told him to punish Lex or something and stop disturbing him. After that, the principal was calling him to his office on a daily basis, asking him if everything was alright and if he wanted to talk about what was bothering him. He hated people pitying him.

"You won't quit smoking that stuff, will you?" Clark's voice interrupted him in his musings; for some reason, he never seemed to be able to hide from Clark, not that he tried that hard.

"I don't bug you to smoke it, you don't bug me to stop doing it," he said matter-of-factly, releasing the smoke he had been holding.

"That doesn't make any sense, Lex." The kid shook his head, all the same smiling that little kid smile that would be so cute if he weren't six-foot-four.

"Doesn't have to," Lex declared, "sounds reasonable enough to me. So, if you didn't come for a toke, what are you doing here, Chuck?"

"Stop that, I know you know my real name," Clark chuckled. "I was going to go to the Torch's office and finish this article I was working on... I was wondering if you'd like to come?"

"Nah, I'll just hang around here until I either finish this, or get sent to the principal's office." He shrugged; it wasn't as much that he didn't want to come, but that he knew Chloe hated him being around interrupting her alone-time with Clark. And the farm-boy was so dense he didn't even notice the way she looked at him.

"Oh, okay," Clark said, even sounding somewhat disappointed. "I'll probably just see you at the principal's office if you do get caught, then."

"Sure thing, Chuck..." he nodded emphatically, "my guardian angel." Lex batted his eyelashes, and wasn't Clark just the cutest when he blushed like that for the silliest things. Too bad he was a small town innocent farm-boy and the only person besides Chloe who actually spoke to Lex at all, or he wouldn't mind getting a piece of that. He even had a pretty decent ass, for what the baggy pants showed... ah, well.

--o--

School was pretty okay lately, since most of the townies had by now realized he did not want to hang out with them, talk to them, even look at them if he could help it. Some of the -cough- popular girls still tried to flirt with him every once in a while, definitely daydreaming about expensive gifts and a jealous cheerleading squad, but for the most part, they left him alone.

Then there were the jocks who, as a rule, weren't his biggest fans. At first they had mostly resented their girlfriends running around him all the time, and later on they had apparently gotten a clue and realized he wasn't really big on the female of the species. As things went, there wasn't actually an organized anti-gay movement at Smallville High, what with him being the only gay person around, and even if there were one, they would probably not mess with the 'Luthor'.

Now speaking about the 'Luthor', there actually was an 'anti-Luthor' movement in Smallville, which was lead enthusiastically by the short guy who always hung around with Clark. Just one more thing that didn't make sense as to why Clark still tried to be friendly towards him, but he wasn't going to complain when the kid had become pretty much his only hobby other than getting wasted, which wasn't as much as hobby anyway as it was a fulltime occupation. At least that way he didn't have to think all that much.

Chloe was pretty okay too, even if she thought herself to be a hell of a lot more worldly than she actually was. It was also pretty annoying that she was always asking questions; even if she was kind of funny he only trusted her as far as he could throw her. She had pretty good knockers though, if he went for that kind of stuff... she would probably look sort of decent in vinyl.

He hadn't gone clubbing in Metropolis once since his dad had sent him here - he might be pretty screwed up but even he knew better than to push too far, and one picture of him in the media would be enough to have him selling flowers in the metro for a living. On the downside, he reckoned it was a good thing he didn't grow any hair, or his hands would be the equivalent of a werewolf's by now. At least he still had an internet connection and his gold credit cards; he had thus far stashed a pretty respectable collection of porn and toys. Contrary to the comments he had heard in passing, he did not masturbate to images of the local jocks.

Fortunately for him, he didn't actually have to attend the gym classes, because his dad might be a sociopath and a depraved bastard, but he did not want his son mingling with the commoners -that- much. That, and Heike had definitely insisted nothing should interfere in Lex's strict fencing regime; running for half an hour after a stupid ball like a fucking dog probably wasn't good for his technique. So, while all the brainless wanna-be ballplayers were sweating it in the gym, he was sitting comfortably between a battered old red truck and Mrs. Simmons blue Ford Taurus.

"Hey, I was wondering where you were," Clarks' always cheerful voice called out to him from over the old car's hood. "You didn't get sent to Mr. Reynolds' office after all..."

"Working on it, Chuck," Lex smirked, waving his mid-morning joint for the farm-boy to inspect. "Don't you have a cheerleader to stalk or something?", he teased, his once snarky remark having become a private joke between them now.

"Nah, I'm not any good at it anyway," Clark smiled back, dropping himself in the space between the two vehicles, right next to him. "Too bulky and awkward to be a proper stalker," he explained seriously.

"I'd give you surveillance equipment," he pretended to consider the matter, "But you'd probably screw it up anyway, and then I'd end up brought in for questioning..."

"Oh, shut up!" The farm-boy mock-punched him in the shoulder. "I'm not that stupid, you know..."

"Yeah I know, behind that pretty face there hides a brilliant mind... I know the drill, Chuck," he assured him, almost choking on the smoke he had been inhaling when Clark suddenly decided it was pertinent to bat his eyelashes wildly and act like a flattered debutante.

--o--

__

Three months later.

"I'm in Smallville, and not in jail" he said sleepily to the phone; their daily ritual phone call at the exact usual time.

"Well done, son," his father acknowledged before the call was disconnected.

He couldn't believe he had been living in Smallville for four months already, and even more strangely, didn't even miss Metropolis all that much, anymore. At least this way, he didn't have to see his dad more than once a month at most, and usually in public company. He had been living surrounded by cornfields for so long he almost didn't miss sex anymore, either. He certainly didn't miss getting wasted in a seedy nightclub in the bad side of town.

He was really feeling great this morning, he decided as he unwrapped himself from the twisted bed sheets and headed for the bathroom to relieve himself. He had almost gotten used to waking up without a hangover of late, ever since Clark had taken to dropping by almost every afternoon after school to shoot some pool or watch some DVD's. They were probably going to have to flog him in order to make him admit it, but he truly liked Clark. A lot. He probably even had a tiny crush on him. Not that he'd admit to that even with the flogging.

--o--

"What a fine morning here in-between Smallville's finest junk vehicles." Clark's cheery voice greeted him at the parking lot as he smoked his morning joint; he knew his friend didn't like it, but he was already smoking a lot less as it was.

"Try louder, Chuck," he mock-glared. "While you're at it, you might want to put up that 'pot-smoking-student here' neon sign."

"Lex, everyone knows what you're up to here." Clark glared for good, sitting in his usual spot by his side. "Principal Reynolds is going mental trying to figure out the best way to make you open up to him... the only reason he turns a blind eye to it is that he fears you will bolt if he confronts you too harshly."

"God, that's really fucked up," he chuckled. "I'm glad I don't have a real problem..."

"You keep telling yourself that." Clark sighed, and Lex really hoped they were not having 'the talk' this early in the morning; fortunately his friend chose to drop it, for the moment at least. "So, you did that trig assignment for Mrs. Lipman's class?"

"There was an assignment?" he rose an eyebrow, feeling kind of confused for a second. "We have trig today?"

"Yeah, in about... five minutes, I'd say." Clark grinned triumphal, like he had just made a point. "Don't worry, you can copy mine, I have it right here with me," he offered, patting his backpack.

"I can do them myself, thank you... it's not like I'm high or anything," he snorted. "I will have to copy the exercises, though..."

"Whatever, 150 IQ guy." Clark rolled his eyes, which suddenly drifted to the opposite side of the parking lot where Chloe's car was just parking. "I have an article to hand over to Chlo before first period," he commented as he opened his backpack and pulled a sheet of paper out. "I'll be right back."

"Look at both sides before crossing!" Lex yelled over an engine, putting out the last of his joint as he watched Clark hurry towards the blond girl; he might as well get started with the exercises, since Clark was probably going to be long and it was only five minutes till classes started.

One thing he hated about Clark was that his notes never seemed to follow any kind of chronological order, and they usually weren't even separated by classes, either. Like, right there was some page full of silly doodles that was almost certainly from Home Economics, and right after that one there was a page with about two lines of what looked like Shop class notes, with lots of things drawn over the margins that looked almost like some kind of glyphs.

He was about to entirely give up and say the dog had eaten his homework -provided they actually believed he had a dog- when suddenly he came across a page that definitely looked like something math-related. He sighed in defeat when he realized it was something from about two months ago, that was as oddly misplaced as everything else in Clark's possession, and he was about to put it back and entirely give up when he noticed the lettering on the margins.

"Holly shit!" he whispered as he read his own name, scribbled all over the left side of the page in Clark's unmistakable -and crappy- calligraphy. His name, and... little hearts? "Oh my god...", little hearts, and his name? On Clark's papers?

He was mentally telling himself he must have come across some really good stuff and was just tripping, even as he clumsily browsed through the rest of Clark's papers. Either he was really wasted, acid-wasted, or a good number of Clark's class notes had very similar things scribbled on the sides... he was debating whether to hit himself over the head with something hard to see if he was really conscious, or just put the papers away and pretend this wasn't happening, when a stifled gasp above him took his mind off his musings.

He looked up to see a terrified-looking Clark, breathing through his mouth nervously as he stared down at him.

"Chuck... I think I'm kind of high, because nothing is really making sense," was all that came to his lips as he stood up and awkwardly put the papers back in some semblance of order before handing them over to his friend. "I think I'm gonna go home, have someone in the staff call me in sick," he stammered like a fucking idiot, barely remembering to grab his own backpack before bolting... he was really confused, and he didn't think he could look at Clark in the eye right then and not kiss him.

--o--

Enrique had proved very helpful, parking his car and making sure the school knew he was feeling ill and was not going to attend classes that day. He had almost refused to go buy him booze, though, and had even argued pretty convincingly about facing one's troubles instead of drinking himself to a stupor, but eventually it had been made clear who was it that gave the orders. Lex might have become softer of late, due to Clark's influence, but he was still a fucking Luthor, and if he wanted to get good and drunk, good and drunk he'd get.

It wasn't until half-way through the morning and well on his way towards the end of the second bottle of his father's favorite brandy, that he realized he might have lost the only friend he'd ever had that day. By the time Enrique showed up with the back up booze, he was already in tears. It was good that his cook, Mabel, had really taken a liking to him, and didn't hold it against him that he was a moody brat with serious self-control issues. She just held him and let him cry, not asking questions.

It was his own fault, because he had known he had a huge crush on Clark for months now, but he had handled it all wrong, kept flirting like he was back in Metropolis with people who were used to it, and had managed to confuse Clark. It was just as well that everything he touched turned to filth, like a fucking Midas of bullshit. He hated himself because he had masturbated so many times thinking about Clark, and he was so damn stupid today - he had ruined the best thing he had ever had, the only real friendship he had ever had, over sex.. Like he always did. It was all his dad's fucking fault for raising him so fucked up.

He had to wonder if they had ever been really friends, or if it was just that Clark was bi-curious in Smalltown, Nowhere, and he had been throwing himself at Clark like the slut he was for nearly half a year. But no; he knew it had really been friendship, pure and uncorrupted, until he had managed to ruin it. He didn't even want to fuck Clark, if it meant loosing what they had. He only wanted to love Clark, have him there...

It suddenly seemed like the only real possibility was to cry himself to sleep in the older woman's arms, and the rest be fucked. He almost missed her soothing whisper, before he drifted off...

"Hush Lex, whatever Clark did, I'm sure it'll be okay," she said, and for once, he really hoped he was wrong, and it could be okay.

--o--

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to wake up to a killer headache. The stupid phone just kept ringing and it wouldn't let him go back to sleep, so he braved opening his eyes, feeling around for his ever-present cell-phone. He had no idea what time it was when he picked up; it figured, it was his fucking dad.

"Lex, why the hell aren't you in school," the angry voice came at once. "The principal called me."

"I'm sick, dad," he replied, not really feeling up to a confrontation; like he could avoid it.

"Lex, you don't get sick... not since the meteor shower. Are you drunk?"

"No, I was sleeping, dad," he groaned, trying to improvise successfully. "I fell down some stairs, bruised an ankle... I'll be fine in the morning."

"Well, were you drunk when you fell?" His dad insisted, sounding like he was really making an effort not to shout; so much for the novelty of pretend-caring. "Don't answer that, I don't really care... just don't do it too often, and I want you back in school tomorrow or I'll send Dominique over."

"Thanks for tending to my sexual needs, dad, but I'm okay... I'll be in school tomorrow." Finished, he disconnected the call before the old bastard had a chance to come up with a pertinent reply in the form of yet another threat. He didn't really give a damn. He had to wonder how much corn-harvesting paid, because there was a hell of a possibility he wouldn't be able to put a foot back in that school again.

"And no, dad, I'm not drunk..." he told the phone, which was glaring at him with a vengeance. "Hopefully, I will be in no time..." he sighed, crawling out of bed towards the study.

--o--

"Are you up and ready for school, or do I have to call the chopper?" his father's less-than sweet voice awoke him in the morning, as usual, although for the first time in a while his head was really killing him and he felt vaguely nauseous; probably his father calling would precipitate the inevitable vomiting.

"I told you I was going! Damn you, you fucking son of a bitch, won't you just leave me alone?" He snapped into the phone, probably the first time in way too long a time.

"Ah, right on cue, Lex..." his father gloated "And here I thought you might have actually changed... just get out of bed, smoke some of that crap you keep buying behind my back, and go to school."

"I will dad, anything not to have to see you..."

"Be careful what you wish for, son, you might actually find yourself quite devoid of my support -financial anyway- any time now."

"Whatever..." he sighed as he disconnected the call and threw the phone out the window, breaking the glass in the process, in what had for a time been considered his typical behavior. Some time ago, his gardener wouldn't even work in that part of the yard in the mornings, for fear of receiving a concussion... right now, throwing his phone out the window not only seemed foreign and stupid, it also did nothing to make him feel any better.

He should probably just get dressed -oh wait, he was already dressed, so that was taken care of. Then, he should probably go find something to smoke. Lex figured if it made him throw up, or feel a bit better; probably a combination of both, it would go a long way toward making his next act tolerable. Facing facts, he was going to have to go to school, in the worst of cases having to avoid Clark for a while, which was in all likelihood not going to be a problem, since Clark hadn't even phoned to see if he was okay in a good twenty-four hours. Maybe if he was really lucky, Clark would have hit himself over the head with some of that meteor-rock, the one he kept insisting did not make him sick, and forgotten all about the day before.

Right. Now if he could only find his lighter... he'd just go find something that could make fire in the kitchen, maybe get some coffee... he hated the prospect of Mabel's knowing glances, and what had she said yesterday, before he fell asleep that first time? Anyway, he just needed a smoke. Maybe even make his coffee Irish... It was all starting to form a pretty comforting plan in his head by the time he reached the kitchen, and his heart caught in his throat.

Clark. There. Sitting on a stool, with a cup of some hot beverage between his hands; his eyes staring sightlessly into the steamy liquid. He was about to bolt when Clark suddenly looked up, a tentative smile on his lips, his eyes shinning with either hope or unshed tears. Neither made sense to Lex.

"Lex," the boy whispered, insecurity in his voice, "I... Mabel said you were asleep, but I should wait... I came yesterday after school, but Enrique said you weren't feeling well... I just..."

"It's okay, Clark." Lex sighed in defeat, knowing he was weak inside and couldn't just stick to his plan of avoiding Clark, especially if Clark was in his kitchen and on the verge of tears; he was so tired. "I shouldn't have bolted the way I did, yesterday," he apologized, trying to sound sincere.

"I am sorry, I mean..." Clark started, obviously not knowing where to begin "Chloe said, she said you... But I know you don't, I mean I'm not stupid, you don't even call me by my real name..." he chuckled nervously, for some reason looking like he was closer to breaking into tears than to laughing. "I'm really sorry Lex, I mean, I think I'm kind of, you know..." he snorted self-deprecatingly, "last thing you need is some farm-hick forcing himself into your life first, and then falling in love with you like an idiot..." Clark sighed. Lex really wanted to tell him something regarding that, but he couldn't really think of anything appropriate and there was a tear running down Clark's cheek now. "I mean, I don't even know if you think of me as you friend, but I always kind of though we were, you know, friends... and I'd really like that, you know... just be able to be close to you, like usual... sit with you in the parking lot, talk about stuff... listen when your dad's being an asshole and freaking you out... I really tried to be a good friend, and you were not supposed to find out... I never though when I finally felt like this it would be with a guy." Clark paused, not knowing what else to say. "Please, Lex, say something..."

And what was he supposed to say? How could he have possibly been so stupid? How could he possibly have though that with Clark it could ever be just about sex. He was Lex fucking Luthor, it was all he knew... only not. Because with Clark, it had never been about sex either; it was about companionship, about sharing, about trusting someone for once in his life...

"I'm sorry, Clark," he whispered, trying to catch his best friend's eyes and failing miserably, the other boy's eyes fixed steadily on the cup before him.

"You don't have to be sorry, Lex... you didn't do anything wrong. It's not like you led me on, or anything..." Clark insisted, and why was Clark trying to make Lex feel better about it, when it was his heart that was obviously breaking? Simply because he was Clark, who always put everyone ahead of himself; who always put Lex ahead of himself.

"Clark, damn it, look at me!" he snapped, immediately regretting it when his farm-boy's tearful eyes finally made contact with his, and he saw the hurt there. "Clark, I'm not asking you not to feel the way you do, I... I'd never do that; you're my best friend...damn it, you're my only friend, and I..." why was it so hard to say it, when he knew he felt it in every fiber of his being? Why was it easier to just trail a hand softly down Clark's cheek, wipe away the tears? "Clark, I think I... I think I'm in love with you, too."

"You mean that?" His best friend whispered, his eyes filling with hope as he unconsciously leaned into his touch.

"God help me, I've never meant anything more in my whole life..." Lex smiled, slowly leaning towards his friend to press a tender kiss to those beautiful lips that only lasted for an instant. "Clark Kent, I'm madly in love with you," Lex confessed, before his lips were claimed this time by his farm-boy's in a kiss that had nothing to do with mindless sex, and everything to do with reassurance, happiness, and love.

And, maybe, he wasn't as screwed up as he had previously thought. Maybe, if someone like Clark could see something worthy in him, there was still hope. He could only pray that there was still enough left in him that he wouldn't hurt Clark anymore, because he never wanted to see sadness and hopelessness in those beautiful green eyes again. It would kill him if he did.


End file.
